


as long as you're honest

by cursedwurm



Series: regarding jonah magnus and his associates [4]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Canon-Typical Behavior, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Eventual Loss of Humanity, Friends to Lovers, Implied Relationships, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, Open Relationships, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexual Content, Trans Barnabas Bennett, Trans Jonah Magnus, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:34:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24644914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cursedwurm/pseuds/cursedwurm
Summary: When Barnabas Bennett met Jonah Magnus in 1810, he had been young, foolish and wore his heart on his sleeve. That was his first mistake. His second was falling in love.__An exploration of Barnabas Bennett's relationship with Jonah Magnus and his associates, from their first meeting to his death.EDIT: discontinued
Relationships: Barnabas Bennett/Jonah Magnus
Series: regarding jonah magnus and his associates [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794436
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35





	1. Trust

**Author's Note:**

> help i cant stop writing jonahbas
> 
> The implied relationship in the tags is jonah/everyone else  
> this fic is gonna have 4 or 5 parts, for milestones/events in their relationship. Im trying to keep this as canon compliant as possible but i cant guarantee anything. You know how the tma timeline is. Tags and warnings are subject to change, ill add them here as i go:
> 
> Warnings:  
> -smoking (tobacco)

When Barnabas Bennett first met Jonah Magnus, they'd both been young. Barnabas had been just shy of twenty-two, and grateful that his brothers were at boarding school so they wouldn't take notice when he cut his hair short and used a corset to compress his chest rather than his waist. He'd still been too shy to go out, to enter social circles, and preferred the company of his books to other people. The estate he owned had been inherited from an uncle he'd never met, and very rarely saw visitors. It was lonely, yes, but Barnabas hardly minded. He didn't have many friends anyway.

It wasn't often that he went out to events like the one in the summer of 1810. It was a warm day, bright and sunny - a welcome change to the thunderstorms of the previous week. The venue, the estate of a wealthy art collector, had been bustling with life, the members of England's upper-class society chattering amongst themselves under the shade of the trees. Barnabas knew full well that unless you were of significant status entrance to the event was only granted through payment - he had, after all, given up a quarter of his funds to attend. Of course, he wasn't usually so careless with his money, but he'd heard that an author whose work he enjoyed would be attending and all common sense had gone out the window. Despite his timidity and significantly lower social standing than most of the other guests, Barnabas was willing to shell out nearly ten pounds for a chance to meet someone he looked up to - perhaps this was his first mistake, the one that started it all. 

The party itself was awkward to say the least. Barnabas knew nobody there, not even the host, and with every sip of champagne that he took, he found himself regretting his decision to come. He managed to spot the author not ten minutes after his arrival, sat on a bench surrounded by wealthy men and women who - judging by their dress - he could only assume were escorts of some kind, draped over him like an accessory. They seemed deep in conversation when Barnabas passed them, laughing at a joke that he didn't understand. In the end, he only felt uncomfortable interjecting, getting the impression that his nervous admiration of the author's work would be unwelcome to the other guests. Thus, Barnabas Bennett found himself standing uncomfortably in the shade of a large oak tree in the grounds of a house belonging to a man he'd never met, able to think only of the ten pounds he'd wasted on a few glasses of champagne and an awkward social event.

Feeling that leaving so soon may come off as rude, he found himself watching the other guests in order to pass the time. Most were interchangeable, he noticed, middle-aged and dressed in fine lace dresses and silk cravats in a clear attempt to show off their wealth - wealth that Barnabas didn't have. They socialised in small groups, chattering politely amongst themselves drinking overpriced wine and eating those pathetically small hors d'oeuvres that he'd always hated. It was the perfect picture of high society, of the fantasy that many novels he read would often portray upper-class life as. Now that Barnabas was apart of it, though, it had lost all of its charm and he wanted nothing more than to go home.

It was just as he was considering slipping out of the party (not that anyone would notice him) when he first saw him, standing in the centre of a small group of men under the shade of a gazebo. He wore a high-collared shirt, black trousers and an embroidered gold waistcoat, his jacket slung over his arm. He spoke to a significantly taller and slightly older man dressed in dark blue and gold, whose clothes were somewhat reminiscent of a naval uniform. At first there was nothing in particular that stood out about the two men or the group they were a part of, but as Barnabas continued to watch he noticed how the man in the centre of the group seemed so effortlessly at ease with himself, laughing and drinking from the other men’s glasses of champagne. He was also, in Barnabas’ opinion, incredibly beautiful. His auburn hair was warm and firey, styled in neat curls away from his face, and even from afar, he could see the mischievous glint of the man's eyes from behind the frames of his glasses. He held himself with confidence that Barnabas could only dream of having, leading the conversation in any way he chose, with one hand grasping a glass of champagne and the other resting on the shoulder of another man as he spoke to the one dressed in blue. Barnabas watched him, transfixed, unable to take his eyes off of the way he commanded the other men with an air of dominance and conviction that he'd never seen in anyone else.

It was, of course, then that Barnabas made eye contact with one of the men, who had been watching the auburn-haired man and drinking him in as if we're some fine work of art, perhaps only half-listening to their conversation. Their gazes met and Barnabas felt his face grow red with embarrassment, quickly averting his eyes as the man's smile became a frown and his expression turned cold. He pretended to sip his champagne to seem preoccupied but realised just as the man stood up and started walking over to him that his glass was already empty. He found himself frozen to the spot, considering his options as he was approached; leaving now would only look suspicious, he figured, and all he could do was stand in place and pray that the man would not be too confrontational.

As he drew closer, Barnabas noticed that the man, like himself, was not dressed quite as finely as the other guests. His clothes were a dark burgundy colour and lacked any of the fine decorations or embellishments of the clothes of the rest of the attendees'. His hair was short and neatly combed out of his eyes, his face youthful but etched with lines of worry that someone his age should not have had. His eyes were narrowed - though he regarded him more with suspicion than he did hostility. Barnabas shifted uncomfortably under his gaze all the same, wishing he had another drink to distract himself with.

"Is everything alright, sir?" he said, internally flinching at his own awkwardness.

The man sighed. "I presume you aren't acquainted with Jonah Magnus?" he asked, his question apparently answered when Barnabas gave him a look of confusion. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, his expression fading from one of suspicion to simple annoyance. "Regardless, I should hope that you don't plan on…  _ gossipping _ to others. Trust me when I say that it wouldn't work out well for you."

At this, Barnabas blinked in surprise. "Gossipping…?" He repeated, "What… Why on Earth would I gossip about this Magnus fellow? I don't even know him."

The man looked at him sceptically, raising an eyebrow as he swirled his champagne around in his glass. "Then why were you staring at him?"

"I-" Barnabas was about to respond when a third, unfamiliar voice interrupted him.

"Dr Fanshawe, leave the young man alone, will you," it said, and he turned to see the man he'd been staring at standing beside him - though when he'd approached Barnabas had no idea. He was even more beautiful up close, his eyes a beautiful emerald green and his cheeks dotted with the odd freckle. He smiled warmly and there was a hint of amusement in his tone when he spoke, though who it was aimed at Barnabas wasn't sure. The man who had initially approached him - Jonathan, apparently - frowned, though his expression softened at his associate's voice.

"Jonah," he said, "You must have seen him staring, I doubt he-"

"Yes, yes, I noticed, Jonathan." Jonah waved his hand in the air dismissively before turning to look at Barnabas, "I'm sure you didn't mean any harm, did you?"

Barnabas swallowed, stumbling over his words as he answered. "No-! No, I, uh, didn't mean anything, I promise." He smiled sheepishly, feeling his face grow even redder as the incredibly handsome man seemed to give him a once-over, looking him up and down for a brief second before he spoke again.

"I don't believe we've met," he said, "My name is Jonah Magnus - though I believe the good Doctor Fanshawe here has already made you aware of that." Out of the corner of his eye, Barnabas saw Fanshawe roll his eyes as he muttered something that sounded like  _ 'here we go'  _ before starting to make his way back to the gazebo. Once he was out of earshot Barnabas couldn't help but relax and Jonah chuckled, and  _ Lord, he had a beautiful laugh.  _ It was warm and pleasant, like a cool breeze on a warm summer's day. Barnabas tucked his hair nervously behind his ear before holding a hand out for Jonah to shake.

"I'm Barnabas," he said quickly, "Barnabas Bennett." He watched as Jonah reached to take his hand and, instead of shaking it, lifted it up to gently kiss his knuckles, his lips warm and soft as they brushed over Barnabas' skin. 

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Bennett," he said softly, "I do hope we can be friends." He looked up with a small smile and winked, and Barnabas felt his stomach turn in the best way possible. His heart raced in his chest, thumping against his ribs like a songbird trapped in a cage. He couldn’t help but grin, feeling his nerves steadily melt away under Jonah’s gaze. “Say, Mr Bennett, why don’t you join us for a drink?” he continued, “I’m quite sure that none of them would mind.”

“Are… Are you sure, Mr Magnus?” Barnabas asked, “Doctor Fanshawe seemed to be-”

“Doctor Fanshawe tends to act on impulse in these situations,” Jonah answered, “He’s a hardworking man - certainly more so than most of these guests - and his strict work ethic can often cross over into his social interactions. He’s far more gentle than he likes to let on, I assure you.”

For a brief moment Barnabas hesitated, before nodding and letting Jonah take his hand and lead him over to his group of associates in the shade of the gazebo. The moment they arrived, Jonah handed him another glass of champagne, introducing him to the others with what Barnabas could only describe as a look of smug self-satisfaction. "Gentlemen," he said with a smirk, "I'd like you to meet my friend Mr Barnabas Bennett-"

"You just met him, Jonah," Dr. Fanshawe said with a frown, "How is he already your friend?"

"You have to meet someone in order to be friends with them, Jonathan," another man interjected, nursing a glass of brandy, "Not two years ago you were in the exact same position as Mr. Bennett."

Barnabas sipped his champagne, not wanting to get involved in their argument. For a moment he wondered how long it would be before he had an excuse to leave, before Jonah opened his mouth again and all desire to be without his company disappeared. 

"Come now, Sampson, he does have a point," he said, chuckling softly as he took his glass of brandy out of his hands and drank some, pressing his lips to the mark already on the glass so precisely that Barnabas could only assume it was intentional. "Besides, unlike some people, I came here with the intention of making connections."

"Is that what you call it?" Sampson mused, and Jonathan elbowed him sharply in the side, fixing him with a cold glare. 

Barnabas had no idea what he was talking about, but still let out a small laugh at Sampson's indignant pout as Jonah gave him back his drink regardless.

"I'm sure Mr Magnus knows what he's doing," he said, feeling his nerves start to dissipate, "He seems like a perfectly capable gentleman."

The man in dark blue - whose clothes, upon closer inspection, were not a naval uniform after all, chuckled at his words, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "That is one word for it," he said, "Jonah is certainly…  _ capable _ at many-"

" _ Mordechai _ ," Jonah's voice cut him off, confident and smooth like pure honey, in a clear threat. Mordechai obeyed his wordless command, rolling his eyes but remaining quiet.

There was silence for a few moments and Barnabas felt several pairs of eyes move to him as if expecting him to say something. He looked down at his half-full glass of champagne, hoping to find some inspiration in the bubbles that floated to the surface of the golden liquid. Finding nothing, he sighed and looked out at the rest of the party beyond the gazebo; he wondered if any of the other guests were actually enjoying themselves, or if they were just putting up a front for the sake of their social standing. "I can't believe they charged nearly ten pounds for this," he eventually said. He'd meant to say it to himself, but it caught the attention of the other man. For a brief second, he regretted speaking entirely, before a laugh came from beside him and he turned to see Jonah Magnus giggling at his statement, his laugh a welcome relief from the silence like a breeze on a hot summer's day. He felt his cheeks go red, more at the announcement that he'd had to pay to enter the party rather than getting in by invitation. "Oh, forgive me, Jonah, I had not realised-"

He cut himself off as Jonah placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled warmly, his green eyes sparkling behind his glasses. "No, you are quite right, Barnabas," he said, "I had expected a bit more… hospitality for that price. Yet here I am, doing something I could easily do at my own home. A waste of money, honestly." Mordechai cleared his throat. "Fine. A waste of  _ Mordechai's  _ money."

Barnabas relaxed at this, sipping his champagne with a smile. He spent the rest of the party in that gazebo, mostly by Jonah's side. Jonah Magnus was an extremely fascinating (as well as bewitchingly handsome) man, and he could only grin as the two of them shared their addresses before they went their separate ways that evening, just in case they wanted to write to each-other.

Barnabas got out a piece of paper and a quill the very next day.

\--

The next time he saw Jonah Magnus in person was some months later; the two of them had been sending letters back and forth, and in that time Barnabas had learned of his interest in the supernatural as well as his attempts to secure funding for a potential institute of research that he planned to found.

It was October when he received the invitation to a formal dinner at Moorland House in Kent, which was, fortunately, a very short journey from Barnabas' home in the outskirts of London. The invitation was a letter, not from Jonah but Mordechai Lukas, who explained in as few words as possible that the dinner was  _ technically _ for Magnus' benefactors, but he'd insisted on inviting Barnabas following their meeting earlier that year. Of course, Barnabas accepted the invitation, more than happy to spend an evening in an unfamiliar environment if it meant finally seeing Jonah Magnus in person again.

Moorland House was a large, impressive estate in practically the middle of nowhere, well-looked after and supposedly passed down through the centuries by members of the Lukas family until it came into Mordechai's ownership. A butler greeted Barnabas at the door, taking his coat and hat before leading him into the main hallway where the other guests were waiting. Immediately he recognised Jonathan Fanshawe and Sampson Kempthorne from the garden party earlier that year, though the other two were unfamiliar to him. He accepted a glass of wine from a serving boy before approaching the two men he knew, greeting them politely (if a little awkwardly) and making idle small talk with them until he felt it appropriate to bring up the whereabouts of Jonah Magnus.

"You two haven't happened to see Jonah anywhere?" he asked, "The letter I received from Mordechai said that he had asked for me to be invited."

Sampson raised his brow and Jonathan let out a soft laugh.

"Did he now?" the doctor said.

"Yes."

"I believe he's with Mordechai at the moment," Sampson told him, sipping his wine with an amused smile, "Said they had some  _ urgent business _ to attend to, so I couldn't say how long they plan to be."

Barnabas did his best to hide his disappointment, not wanting to seem like he was clinging to Jonah. "That's a shame," he said, "Though I suppose I'll see him at dinner-"

" _ Barnabas! _ " 

He didn't get to finish his sentence, cut off by a familiar voice saying his name. He turned to see Jonah approaching him, the heels of his boots clicking loudly on the hard wooden floor. 

"Ah, Jonah," Barnabas smiled, feeling himself relax at another familiar face in the room, "I was wondering when you'd join us."

Jonah didn't answer, instead grabbing him by his jacket and pulling him into a tight hug. His fingers tangled in Barnabas' hair and he buried his face in his collar, his auburn hair tickling his neck as he muttered, "I am so happy you came, Barnabas." Barnabas couldn't answer for a moment, his thoughts still catching up to what was happening as he slowly slid his arms around Jonah's waist and melted into his embrace. The man in his arms continued, his words only slightly muffled against his collar. "I have missed you, dear," he said, "And letters can only provide so much relief from that."

"Your feelings are requited," Barnabas eventually said, momentarily unaware of the other men in the room, "I am glad we get to see each-other again." Jonah held him tighter, squeezing him in his arms, before letting him go and holding his hands. His hair was slightly dishevelled, falling in curls around his face, and he was ruddy-cheeked, as if he'd just ran a mile to see him. He was, of course, as handsome as ever and Barnabas found his line of sight dropping from his sparkling green eyes to his lips, full and sweet and a gorgeous rosy pink. He wondered for a moment if they were as soft as his hands, which were currently wrapped around his own, if they would feel as gentle if he were to press them against his own.

"Barnabas," Jonah said his name, pulling him out of his thoughts, "I trust you have been introduced to all of my associates?"

Barnabas blinked in surprise before shaking his head, suddenly hyper-aware of the other men in the room. "I'm afraid not, Jonah," he answered, "By all means, introduce me."

Robert Smirke, a man at least in his thirties, was an architect working with Jonah on the building for his institute of research into the paranormal. He spoke calmly and matter-of-factly, though there was a definite sharpness to how he responded to Jonah's jokes and teases that made Barnabas think there was perhaps more history to their relationship than either were willing to let on. The other stranger in the room was a man named Albrecht Von Closen, a German nobleman who Jonah had apparently visited in his home by the Black Forest on multiple occasions. Barnabas' German was rusty to say the least, and he struggled to understand much of his and Jonah's conversation other than that Albrecht had a wife called Clara (or was it Carla?) and that he was thrilled to be in Jonah's company once again. Barnabas greeted them both politely, though his thoughts were mostly focussed on how Jonah's arm was interlocked with his, his grasp firm but friendly and their shoulders nearly close enough to touch. Mordechai joined them not five minutes after, greeting his guests with a vague, somewhat impersonal announcement that they were free to move to the dining hall whenever they chose to. Jonah kept his arm around Barnabas’, looking up at him with a smile and gesturing towards the doorway. “Shall we?” he asked, and Barnabas nodded, suddenly aware of how fast his heart raced inside his chest.

The dining room itself was nothing special - expensive and large but simply decorated with a few arrangements of flowers in the centre of the table. There were placards by each seat to signal where everyone was to sit, and Barnabas found himself sat in the centre of his side of the table, with Dr Fanshawe to his left and Jonah to his right: an intentional decision made by Jonah, he was fairly sure.

The food and the company were both perfectly pleasant, and Barnabas was more than happy to listen as the other men discussed Jonah’s institute and swapped anecdotes of their personal experiences with the supernatural; specifically, he was more than happy to observe Jonah as he enthusiastically chattered (and occasionally gossiped) amongst his peers, his eyes lighting up with a beautiful joy as he spoke. Barnabas found himself entirely fixated on the man, fully aware that the other men around the table were far too preoccupied with whatever supernatural happening they were invested in to even notice him staring.

He was, without a doubt, developing feelings for Jonah that he could not ignore and that went far beyond the realms of simple platonic affection. Barnabas was not the sort of man to fall for another so easily. He didn't have nearly enough friends to make that sort of emotional connection, and more often than not the people he would interact with were stuck-up, condescending elitists that he’d much rather have nothing to do with. However, when he did fall for someone, he often found that he fell hard and fast, not quite able to fully process his feelings in time to stop them. Even so, he thought himself to be a reasonably intelligent man and he knew that rushing into a relationship, especially considering the nature of his identity, could be potentially damaging to both his feelings and his social standing.

Despite his supposed intelligence, though, Barnabas still found himself wondering if Jonah’s rather…  _ physical  _ way of expressing his affection - from the way he’d kissed his knuckles when they had first met, to the embrace they had shared earlier that evening or the hand that Jonah currently had resting on his knee under the table - could perhaps be a sign that his feelings for him were more than just platonic, in the same way Barnabas’ were for him.

Between their main course and dessert, Jonah turned to him, the hand on his knee squeezing gently to get his attention. “Barnabas,” he said, “May I ask you a question?”

Barnabas nodded. “Of course, Jonah.”

“...Do you believe in the supernatural?”

Barnabas pursed his lips in thought. It was a serious question - even if it weren’t for that evening’s conversations, Jonah’s grave expression was more than enough to prove that he was being entirely serious. He took a moment to answer, choosing his words carefully as to phrasen it in a way he thought Jonah would approve of. “I… can’t say I’m entirely sure,” he eventually replied, “I am certainly not religious, though I doubt that is what you mean by the supernatural. However...” His voice trailed off, suddenly all too aware that his voice was the only one to be heard in the room.

“Go on.” Jonah’s voice was gentle and encouraging, and the hand he had placed on his knee moving up slightly to squeeze the flesh of his thigh.

“I… cannot say I have ever had any first-hand experience with anything not of this world,” Barnabas continued, “I have nothing to incline me to believe in it, yet without solid proof of both its existence and non-existence, I can only remain neutral on the subject.”

“I see.” Jonah nodded, seeming neither satisfied nor upset by his answer. He turned back to face the rest of the table, picking up his glass of wine, but the hand on Barnabas’ thigh stayed firmly where it was.

The rest of the dinner passed smoothly and Barnabas returned to making occasional small talk with the other guests and listening to their chatter, more than happy to finish his food in relative silence. The hand on his thigh was, eventually, removed, but the area where it had sat felt like it had been brandished, the ghost of Jonah’s grasp still dancing on Barnabas’ leg. They remained at the table for a good half-hour after their plates had been cleared, each of them drinking another glass of wine as they discussed the most recent finance plans that Mordechai had drawn up regarding the proposed research institute. Of course, Barnabas didn’t have much to say but found himself intrigued by the whole thing and wondered momentarily how Jonah had come into contact and gained the support of such a group of men. There were brief discussions of  _ ‘favours’  _ that Jonah had apparently carried out, though no specifics were mentioned and Barnabas could only imagine what this meant - and he did.

He was more than a little ashamed of the places his mind wandered to, of how active his imagination was when it came to the thoughts - that were closer to fantasies than actual, logical concepts. He could only be thankful that none of the other guests were paying enough attention to watch his cheeks heat up as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Barnabas was more than grateful when the others began to get up from the table, ready to retire into the drawing-room. He politely excused himself, saying that he wanted to get some fresh air, before making his way out of Moorland House and into its well-kept gardens, where he breathed a long, heavy sigh of relief. He sat down on a brick wall and took the opportunity to take off his waistcoat and loosen his collar. The cool autumnal air provided a welcome relief and he allowed himself to relax, breathing in the petrichor from that morning’s rain. He was undeniably embarrassed, both at his own lack of decorum and the thought that someone had noticed his cheeks go ruddy and his eyes wandering over to Jonah for what must have been the hundredth time that night. He was also, unfortunately, aroused, something that only added to his embarrassment as he had to actively focus on not thinking of Jonah Magnus in rather indecent situations. He even briefly considered, pleasantly buzzed on his third glass of wine, if he should wander deeper into the grounds of Moorland House where he could take a moment to himself before returning to the-

“Is everything alright, Barnabas?”

Barnabas looked behind him to see Jonah, smoking a tobacco pipe and wearing a concerned expression. He blinked in surprise, cheeks burning with shame as the nature of what he had considered doing dawned on him. “I, uhm,” he stumbled over his words, not quite able to meet the other man’s gaze, “I am perfectly fine. I think I just drank a bit too much.”

Jonah sighed understandingly, coming to join him on the wall beside him. The tobacco he was smoking smelled warm and woody, and smoke billowed from his lips as he spoke. “You and me both, I think,” he said, “I felt bad refusing the tobacco since it’s the most expensive stuff Mordechai could get his hands on, but…” He frowned, “I don’t think it’s helping my headache.”

Barnabas allowed himself a small chuckle at this, feeling himself begin to calm in Jonah’s company. “Perhaps you should stop smoking it then,” he suggested, with just a hint of mockery in his voice, “It isn’t like anyone will notice out here if you do.”

“That is true.”

“Well, I suppose I’ve noticed,” he added, “But your secret is safe with me.” Then, feeling confident, he gave Jonah a wink. The action had just enough flirtatious intention behind it that it could be interpreted as either a friendly or romantic gesture; judging by the hand that came to rest on his thigh, he could only assume Jonah chose the latter.

“It better be,” Jonah muttered softly, shuffling closer along the wall so that his thigh was pressed against Barnabas’, “I shan’t be best pleased if you snitch on me.” His voice was low and firm, though there was no trace of malice in his words.

Barnabas watched as his tongue darted out to wet his lips, which somehow looked even more enticing than they had before dinner. “Jonah…” His name fell from his lips, voice no louder than a whisper, “I think-”

“Barnabas, dear,” Jonah interrupted, the scent of the tobacco getting stronger as he leaned closer , dangerously so, “I… I think you’re one of the most beautiful men I have ever laid my eyes on. Since we met in June, I must admit, I’ve thought of you almost constantly.” His hand moved to cup Barnabas’s face, stroking his cheek with his thumb, and Barnabas leaned into his touch, almost instinctively.

“Jonah, are you sure this isn’t the alcohol talking?” he asked, but made no attempt to pull away.

“I’m not  _ drunk _ , Barnabas, I…” Jonah’s voice trailed off and he let out another tired, almost defeated, sigh. “You’d get headaches too, if you spent all evening in a corset.”

Barnabas stared at him blankly. “I do,” he said, then, realising what he’d said, he pulled away and looked away to break the eye contact that he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding. “Hold on, you’re wearing a corset?”

Jonah nodded, shuffling a few inches along the wall so their legs no longer touch, remaining silent for a few seconds. “...Yes,” he eventually answered, “I have them custom-made to bind my chest. I see no point in keeping it from you, but if you take any sort of issue with that I’ll have to ask you to leave and-”

Barnabas smiled, leaning over to take his hand as he cut him off. “From the tailor on Reading Street in Oxford?” he asked gently, “He’s the only one I know that makes them.”

“Yes, that’s where I have them made.” Jonah looked back up, eyes widening in realisation, “Wait, you’re-?”

“I am.”

“Oh…  _ Oh!” _ Jonah’s expression brightened and he moved closer to Barnabas, cupping his face in his hand once again. Barnabas just laughed softly, leaning closer himself and holding the hand on his cheek in his own.

“It’s rather nice to know I’m not alone,” he said softly, stroking Jonah’s knuckles with his thumb, “Now then, Jonah, where were we?”

Jonah chuckled, closing the gap between them until Barnabas could feel his breath tickling his skin. “I was telling you how handsome you are,” he said, “And getting ready to kiss you.”

“Then hurry up and kiss me.”

Jonah didn’t hesitate to do as he said, closing the few inches of space between them and kissing him. Barnabas didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, eyes fluttering shut as he rested his hands on his shoulder; Jonah’s mouth was just as soft as he’d imagined, smooth and warm and plump against his own. His heart raced inside his chest as he pulled him closer, hesitating before tangling his fingers in his auburn hair, their lips clumsily slotting together and sliding apart as they stumbled to match each-other’s pace. It was more than a little imperfect, but Barnabas continued to lean into his touch, hesitating before lightly scraping his teeth over Jonah’s bottom lip. At this Jonah let out a gentle gasp of surprise, muttering softly against his mouth.

“ _ Barnabas… _ ” His name sounded heavenly on his lips, and Barnabas felt his heart skip a beat. He blushed, even harder than before, and opened his mouth to answer.

“Yes, Jonah-” He started, but was cut off before he could finish, being pulled back in by the front of his jacket as Jonah reconnected their lips and kissed him again. This time, however, it was neither as hesitant or as sweet as before, and Barnabas found himself closing his eyes and gripping a fistful of auburn hair as Jonah probed his mouth open with his tongue, tilting his head to the side to deepen the kiss. He melted into him, groaning into his mouth as their tongues slid over each-other's, hot and wet and erotic in a way that Barnabas had never even imagined. All his nerves were gone, replaced by a sudden rush of desire, a pang of insatiable hunger for Jonah Magnus that made him pull the man closer until he was practically sat in his lap, passionately kissing him in the grounds of the house of a virtual stranger. His mind had gone completely blank, his lips moving against Jonah's of their own accord as the other's hands slid down his body and came to rest on his waist, wrapping around him and pulling himself against Barnabas so that their chests were pressed against each-other's.

"We should go back inside," Barnabas muttered, taking a moment to catch his breath as he pulled away. Jonah raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?" he asked, "And what do you plan to do to me once we get inside?"

Barnabas rolled his eyes. "Harlot," he muttered, "I plan to rejoin the others to say my farewells before I leave for the night."

Jonah's face fell, his lips curling downwards into something dangerously close to a pout. He didn't move from where he sat though, still perched somewhat precariously on Barnabas' lap. "Are you sure?" he asked, "I am sure Mordechai wouldn't mind if you were to sleep in my room-"

"That would be rather suspicious, don't you think?"

Jonah snorted. "It would be quite hypocritical of him if he were to disapprove," he explained, "He's not exactly… how should I put this…?" He was silent for a few moments; Barnabas furrowed his brow in confusion before realisation struck him.

"Oh..." His eyes widened in surprise, "Have you two-?"

Jonah let out a chuckle at that, nodding his head like what he was saying was no revelation at all. "We have, yes," he said, "That's why we were late coming to dinner this evening."

"... I see."

"I suppose this might change your feelings for me."

"... Not necessarily." Barnabas replied, watching as Jonah smiled and took his hand into his own. A part of him knew that such a revelation would usually make something think twice, but somehow his complete transparency made him trust Jonah, more so than it probably should have.

"I see no reason to keep this hidden from you, Barnabas," he continued, "In our correspondence over these last few months I have come to trust you greatly, and I think it only fair that you know  _ before _ anything else happens between us that Mr Lukas is not the only man I have this sort of relationship with."

Barnabas pulled back slightly, feeling his face flush with embarrassment as he asked, "Is… is this what you meant by  _ 'favours'  _ earlier this evening?”

“You ask too many questions.” Jonah said, his voice firmer than before. He was silent for a moment before shrugging, far too casually considering the nature of what he was saying. “Yes, alright, most of the favours I carry out are… sexual in nature. But I can assure you that isn’t why most of them sponsor me. My institute and the research it carries out shall, hopefully, benefit all of us.”

Barnabas took a moment to fully process what Jonah had told him, then smiled and nodded, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. "I understand," he said, "As long as you are honest with me about these things, I don't mind."

"Good," Jonah returned the kiss, pressing his lips to the corner of Barnabas', then got to his feet and held out his hand for him to take. "Let's go then, shall we?" he asked, and Barnabas allowed him to lead him back into Moorland House.

Barnabas arrived home not long before midnight, and practically passed out the moment his head hit the pillow. He dreamed of Jonah Magnus, of his auburn hair tangled in his fingers, his swollen red lips kissing his neck and his warm skin pressed flushed and naked against his own. When he woke up he found himself hiking his nightshirt up to his hips and slipping a hand between his thighs, picturing Jonah above him as he gripped his bedsheets and brought himself to completion. Once he was cleaned up and dressed, he sat down in his study and took out a quill and some paper. The letters of Jonah's name were ones he'd written many a time before, and carefully marking them down in ink felt as natural as breathing.

By the end of that afternoon, he'd already finished writing his next letter to Jonah.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inside the package sat a blue velvet box decorated with an ornate silver clasp that keeps it closed. The box itself was fairly weighty and felt surprisingly heavy as he set it down in his lap. He couldn't help but raise his eyebrows at Jonah, already worried about what might be inside. "This looks… expensive," he said, picking his words carefully. Jonah just grinned.
> 
> "Aren't you going to open it?" he asked, and Barnabas did, carefully lifting the clasp and letting the box open with a click. He lifted the lid up and inhaled sharply at the glint of gold inside it.
> 
> "Jonah," he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper, "You… I… I can't possibly accept this." He reached forward to touch the tie pin that sat in the box - decorated with an ornate golden eye, engraved with delicate swirls and spirals and finished with a polished emerald in place of the iris. He picked it up carefully; it somehow felt heavier in his hand than it did in the box, and he traced the ornate patterns on it as he held it cautiously, almost scared of breaking it. “I appreciate it, but I just can’t-”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I will update this weekly" I said, leaving it for a month. whoops
> 
> there are no warnings for this chapter, but there is explicit sex in the second half. i use masculine (eg. cock, dick, etc.) and gender-neutral (sex, arousal etc) terms for both characters' genitalia. as always, I'm not transmasc myself but I've spoken with transmasc mutuals to help me write this. 
> 
> Feel free to leave comments/kudos and follow me on Tumblr: [@snapdraqons](https://snapdraqons.tumblr.com/)

Barnabas Bennett hadn't meant to be sucked into Jonah Magnus' close circle of associates so quickly. Before meeting him, he didn't have much of a social life and was, for the most part, perfectly content that way. And yet, within a year of meeting the man, Barnabas was a regular at his benefactors' gatherings and dinner parties, alongside the group of men he'd met in the months prior. He had not willingly been to such events so regularly since before he had left his parents' home some years prior, but since meeting Jonah Magnus he had found himself at his dining table or in the ballroom of Moorland House almost as much as he found himself in his own house. He often wondered how Jonah had so much time to host benefactor gatherings; between gaining funding for his institute and conducting his own research for it, Jonah was an incredibly busy man and Barnabas was shocked that he had so much free time to spend socialising.

The large social gatherings were tiring - and, unfortunately, made up a majority of the events that Barnabas was invited to. He politely mingled with the other guests, most of whom had more money than sense and were hand-picked by Jonah himself as potential sponsors of his institute. Of course, none of them had the same relationship with him as those in his close circle did; he shared champagne and hors d'oeuvres with his guests but that was about as intimate as their relationship got. Barnabas often found himself growing restless at these events - restless to spend time with Jonah, to pull him away from his mind-numbingly dull conversations and until his mouth was numb and he couldn't tell whose lips were whose. There were, of course, occasional moments of excitement at these events, such as the time he'd left to get some fresh air only to walk in on Jonah shoving his tongue down Albrecht Von Closen's throat in the conservatory, but for the most part they were all much the same as each-other.

There was one that stood out- in May of 1812. At this point Barnabas was close with Jonah and his associates, and guests often pointed out how the two of them seemed to be joined at the hip, how they rarely saw one without the other. Naturally, Barnabas would laugh it off, letting them know that Jonah was  _ just so easy to get on with _ , that they'd be just as close if they spent time with him (and perhaps lent him their money). Of course, these didn't stop eyebrows from raising when Jonah would invite him to dance with a kiss on the cheek and a hand resting on his waist, but Barnabas was assured by several members of Jonah's close circle that anyone who said anything about it would most likely fall foul of the Lukas family who, despite hardly being social butterflies, had more than enough money to shut anyone up if they were asked. 

One of the few members who had  _ not _ given him this reassurance, however, was Jonathan Fanshawe.

The doctor was older than Barnabas by a few years, twenty-six years old though bearing the worry lines of someone far older. His skin was a warm golden brown, his hair a rich chestnut colour and falling in waves around his handsome face. He was broad and appeared strong, and was attractive in a way that seemed to be the exact opposite of Jonah Magnus. Barnabas had not had many conversations with him outside of simple small talk, as ever since their first meeting he had got the impression that the doctor held some sort of a grudge against him. So naturally he was rather surprised when Jonathan approached him at a party, barely a minute after Jonah had left his side.

"May I have a word, Mr Bennett?" he asked, his voice not quite low enough to be a whisper. Barnabas frowned in confusion, but nodded all the same.

"Of course, Dr Fanshawe," he said, "...Is anything the matter?"

The doctor let out a sigh, looking around before gently taking Barnabas by the arm. "Not here," he muttered, "We should go somewhere more private- if that's alright with you." Barnabas nodded and let him lead him out of the room and away from the chatter and hubbub of the party. They made their way through the corridors of Moorland House, flickering candlelight illuminating the barely-furnished walls. Even now, with fifty-odd guests and a small orchestra playing to entertain them, there was something distinctly lonely about the place, and he found himself pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders as a chill ran down his spine. 

The room Jonathan led him to looked to be some sort of library, far away enough from the rest of the party that the music from the ballroom could no longer penetrate the walls. It was large and impressive, shelves stacked with books and manuscripts and collections of oddities, ranging from animal skulls to delicate glass ornaments, that seemed completely unrelated to each-other. Despite how well-furnished it was everything in the room, including the sofas, was covered in a thin layer of dust, as if no-one had entered it in years. It was somewhat disconcerting, but Barnabas decided to push down the sense of unease within him, focusing instead on the doctor as he closed the door beside him and leaned against one of the shelves.

"Mr Bennett," he said, his voice firm but not unfriendly, "I know that when we have spoken in the past I have not been particularly…  _ friendly _ towards you. I would like to apologize for that now."

Barnabas blinked in surprise as he sat down on a dusty sofa; he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting but it certainly wasn't  _ this _ .

"Oh, it's fine, Doctor Fanshawe," he replied, "I hold absolutely nothing against you, I promise."

"That's good to hear," the doctor nodded slowly. He then pursed his lips together, apparently hesitating for a moment, before continuing. "Barnabas, I should say before I continue that I do not mean to be malicious at all. If I do come off as rude in my questions to you then I apologize in advance."

Barnabas was confused for a moment, though perhaps this was because he was slightly more focused on not coughing on the dust than he was on Jonathan's words. He furrowed his brow and frowned at his words, clearing his throat before speaking. "What do you-?" he started, and as the words left his mouth realisation hit him and he cut himself off, eyes widening in sudden awareness of what the doctor wanted from him. "You… wish to know more about mine and Jonah's relationship, don't you?"

Letting out a sigh of acknowledgement - or perhaps defeat - Jonathan nodded and made his way over to the sofa, sitting down beside Barnabas just close enough to be friendly.

"I do," he admitted, "And I understand if you are uncomfortable answering this, but I shall ask anyway. Do you love Jonah Magnus?" Barnabas stiffened at this; the question caught him off-guard and he looked up at Jonathan in surprise for longer than he intended to, his brain gradually processing the question.

"I…" he started, then stopped and furrowed his brow in thought.

The answer, of course, was yes. Barnabas had, for lack of better phrasing, fallen head over heels in love with Jonah Magnus. Every time they were together he felt alive, rejuvenated in a way that he didn't feel around others. He looked forward to their every interaction, whether it was a peck on the cheek as they parted ways or a hand on the waist as they danced, or the kisses Barnabas pressed to the envelopes of his letters to his lover before sending them off. He loved the feeling nearly as much as he loved Jonah himself: it was warm and sweet and genuine, making him feel as if he were floating every time they kissed.

However, there was one issue. Barnabas wasn't a foolish man - or at least he tried not to be - and something told him that this sensation, this total weightlessness he felt whenever he was around Jonah, was, in fact, love.

There was just the issue of Jonah loving him back.

He was fairly sure that he did. There was a certain gentleness to everything he did with Barnabas, even when kissing him so roughly that his teeth drew blood from his lips. He was kind and sweet and generous, taking time out of his extremely busy life just to write to Barnabas - something he was sure he did not do for those  _ not  _ lending him money (such as himself). His letters were always so warm, never cold or impersonal, and when he had the fortune of seeing him in person, Jonah showed him a certain… human-ness that Barnabas didn’t see around others. Neither of them had ever said it explicitly, had never had the chance to give a proper confession, but he was sure that Jonah loved him.

He’d be a very good actor if he didn’t.

There was silence as Barnabas bit his lip and stared down at his half-empty wine glass in thought, mentally debating how to go about answering the doctor's question in a way that wouldn't make him seem like a doting idiot. It was Jonathan who eventually broke the silence, raising his brow as he spoke. "Is everything alright, Mr Bennett?" he asked, "You've gone awfully quiet."

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," Barnabas waved his hand dismissively at his concern, "It's just… a rather heavy question, no?"

The doctor nodded, letting out a sigh. "I understand," he said, paused as if hesitating, then continued, "Jonah Magnus is certainly an…  _ interesting _ character. While I have not known him as long as Smirke or Lukas has, I still have several years on you, Barnabas."

"And what exactly is  _ that _ supposed to mean?" Barnabas narrowed his eyes, "I know my social standing is hardly that of Jonah's, but I am not  _ clueless _ \- and I certainly have more experience with the middle class than  _ you _ ."

"This has nothing to do with social standings, Mr Bennett," Jonathan retorted, apparently unphased by the jab at his class or wealth (or rather, his lack thereof), "This is about your relationship with Jonah-"

"Do you disapprove of it, Doctor Fanshawe?" Barnabas' raised voice echoed against the walls of the apparently-unused library, "Because as far as I'm aware, your relationship with Jonah is hardly an orthodox one. I should think that disapproving of my own would make you quite the hypocrite."

Jonathan bristled at this, downing the last of his drink and slamming the glass down on the table in front of him. "This is not about anyone's relationship with Jonah except your own!" he snapped, "And I am  _ not _ attacking you, Mr Bennett. I am simply trying to help you."

" _ Help _ me?"

"Yes," the doctor let out another deep sigh, lowering his voice and rubbing his temple with his fingers. "Jonah Magnus is dedicated to his research and his institute first and foremost," he said, "And unless you are directly contributing to it, like Smirke or Lukas or von Closen are, you are secondary to it. Unless you start giving him money or…  _ statements,  _ your feelings for Jonah will get you hurt."

Barnabas was quiet for a few moments, frowning as he processed what the doctor had told him. He hung his head, wringing his hands in his lap as the information sunk in. When he looked back up at Jonathan he noticed his face had darkened - though whether it was in shame or just simple embarrassment he couldn't be sure. "Doctor Fanshawe?" he asked, "Do you… have feelings for Jonah?"

"... Unfortunately." Jonathan turned back to face him, letting out a forced laugh, "As you can probably guess, it did not end well. Jonah is a clever man; I trust him as a scholar and a pioneer of esoteric research more so than anyone else. But as a lover, my trust for him is non-existent."

"... But you're still intimate with him."

"That's beside the point."

Barnabas watched as the doctor's face became flushed - even more so than before- and he couldn't help but crack a smile at the ridiculousness of the whole situation. He rested a hand on Jonathan's shoulder, firmly enough to be confident without coming across as forceful. "I appreciate the warning, Doctor Fanshawe," he chuckled softly, "But I am a grown man and I can assure you that I am more than capable of looking after myself. If Jonah's feelings for me are not returned I shall find out soon enough. A broken heart is nothing to me, Jonathan, and if that is the worst thing to come from my relationship with Jonah then I think I shall fare rather well."

For the first time that evening the doctor smiled, a warm and genuine smile that reached his eyes and made dimples appear in his cheeks. He nodded, apparently satisfied, before taking a small notebook and piece of charcoal out of his jacket's inside pocket and scribbling something down. "That's good to hear," he said, then tore out the page of his notebook and folded it over, handing it to Barnabas. "If you ever want to talk - or not talk - this is my address. You’re an incredibly  _ agreeable _ young man, and I'd hate to see your youth be wasted on the likes of Jonah Magnus."

"I- you…  _ oh _ ."

"I shall take my leave now," Jonathan got to his feet with a soft laugh, "Enjoy the rest of the evening - and do not hesitate to call in if you require my assistance. Goodnight, Mr Bennett." The doctor gave him a smile, picking up his glass before making his way out of the library. Barnabas didn't see him for the rest of the evening, but what he'd said about Jonah played on his mind over and over, consuming his thoughts until long after he'd arrived home. A part of him wanted to listen to Doctor Fanshawe, to take caution around Jonah, but a larger, far more persuasive part of him was far too deeply in love to even consider it.

He only hoped, as he fell asleep with Jonathan's words still playing on his mind, that he wasn't making the wrong decision.

\--

In 1813, Jonah came to visit Barnabas at his home for the first time.

The visit was, much to Barnabas' annoyance, completely unannounced, and when a maid entered his study to let him know that Jonah Magnus was there to see him he blinked in surprise and made his way somewhat hesitantly downstairs to meet him.

Jonah was already settled on a sofa in Barnabas' living room by the time he got to him, idly flicking through a book that had been left on the coffee table. He seemed incredibly relaxed for someone visiting another's home for the first time, and exuded his usual easy, self-assured confidence that never failed to make Barnabas go weak at the knees. He was also, oddly enough, dressed impeccably; his clothes were crisp and clean and the gold of his jacket's buttons and jewellery glinted brightly against the rich emerald green of his clothes. Barnabas had seen him wear this before, at benefactor dinners and parties - and as handsome as Jonah was, he couldn't help but be confused as to why he was dressed so formally on a random Thursday afternoon at the end of December.

"Jonah, this is certainly a pleasant surprise," he said, unable to stop himself from smiling despite his confusion, "To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you today?"

Jonah laughed - even then it still sent shivers down Barnabas' spine - and stood up to approach him, resting his hands on Barnabas' waist. " _ Must _ I have a reason to see you, Barnabas?" he asked, pulling him into a kiss before he could answer. The kiss was not particularly passionate, but lingered for what could have been hours yet still somehow ended far too soon. It was warm and sweet and, even after kissing Jonah tens, or perhaps even hundreds, of times since their first meeting, it still caused his stomach to turn and his heart to flutter against his ribs in excitement. When he pulled away Barnabas couldn't help but laugh, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks.

"Do you mean to tell me you travelled all the way from Edinburgh  _ just _ to kiss me?" he chuckled, and Jonah shrugged, his hands still wrapped around his waist.

"Well," he said, "I suppose there is something else."

" _ Oh? _ "

"Well, it is the twenty-ninth on Saturday, is it not?"

Barnabas took a moment to process what he was saying (he'd, unfortunately, lost track of time over the Yuletide, having spent most of it at home with just himself for company) before letting out a sigh and pulling away from Jonah entirely. "I swear that I told you last year that I don't celebrate my birthday," he said, "You know I don't appreciate that sort of attention, Jonah."

Jonah shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. "I'm not here to celebrate your birthday," he explained, "I'm simply here to keep you company. We wouldn't want you getting  _ lonely _ now, would we?"

"... I suppose not."

"Besides, I bought you a gift and I'd rather it not get damaged in the post," Jonah grinned and, despite Barnabas' insistent protests, he picked up a bag he'd placed beside the sofa and opened it up. He took out a small package, no larger than an ashtray and wrapped in brown paper and a piece of string tied into a small, neat bow. He handed it to Barnabas and sat back down on the sofa, watching him expectantly.

"I suppose you want me to open this?" Barnabas raised an eyebrow, sitting down beside him with a sigh.

"That's what people usually do with presents, yes."

"...Fine." Barnabas rolled his eyes playfully before undoing the bow and sliding his fingers under the flaps of brown paper to carefully tear it open. Inside the package sat a blue velvet box decorated with an ornate silver clasp that keeps it closed. The box itself was fairly weighty and felt surprisingly heavy as he set it down in his lap. He couldn't help but raise his eyebrows at Jonah, already worried about what might be inside. "This looks… expensive," he said, picking his words carefully. Jonah just grinned.

"Aren't you going to open it?" he asked, and Barnabas did, carefully lifting the clasp and letting the box open with a click. He lifted the lid up and inhaled sharply at the glint of gold inside it.

"Jonah," he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper, "You… I… I can't possibly accept this." He reached forward to touch the tie pin that sat in the box - decorated with an ornate golden eye, engraved with delicate swirls and spirals and finished with a polished emerald in place of the iris. He picked it up carefully; it somehow felt heavier in his hand than it did in the box, and he traced the ornate patterns on it as he held it cautiously, almost scared of breaking it. “I appreciate it, but I just can’t-”

Jonah reached over and enclosed Barnabas’ hands in his own, squeezing them tightly as they held onto the pin. “At least try it on, love,” he said softly, “I had it commissioned especially for you.”

Barnabas opened his mouth to protest but closed it before any words could leave his mouth, instead letting out a sigh of defeat and nodding. Jonah lifted his fingers from around the brooch and picked the golden eye out of his hand, carefully sliding it into the white silk of his cravat. His hands lingered there for a moment, tracing the shape of the eye that now sat by Barnabas’ collar before he cupped his face in his palm and stroked his cheek with his thumb. 

“So?” Barnabas raised his brow, “Does it suit me?”

“Yes,” Jonah replied without hesitation, “I think you should keep it.” Then, before Barnabas could answer, he leaned in to kiss him. Barnabas froze for a moment, letting a soft _hmph!_ against his lips in surprise before melting into him, wrapping one hand around his waist and combing his fingers through Jonah’s auburn hair with the other.

The kiss was slow at first; Jonah tasted of peppermint and smelled of warmth and musk, and Barnabas leaned into him without thinking, lips slotting together like a lock and key, fitting with practiced ease and sliding apart just as easily. He shuffled closer to him, their knees knocking together as he gently swiped his tongue over his bottom lip, an invitation to push things further that Jonah gladly accepted. Letting out a soft hum of approval, Barnabas slipped his tongue into his mouth, eyes fluttering closed as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. His hands moved to grip his lover’s hips, pulling his body against his own as Jonah pulled away for a brief moment to kneel on the sofa and position his knees either side of his leg. He set himself down to straddle Barnabas’ thigh, his hands trailed from his jaw down his shoulders towards his abdomen, fingers splayed over his chest. He hadn’t been expecting visitors, so he’d simply relied on the heavy material of his jacket to hide his body rather than binding it with a corset. The ice of the winter air outside still lingered on Jonah’s hands and penetrated the material of his shirt, making him gasp as his cold fingertips brushed over his nipples. Jonah seemed more than pleased with his response, and Barnabas gripped his hips tighter as he bit his spit-slicked lip nervously and looked up at him through his lashes.

“Jonah, I-” he started, cutting himself off with a gasp as Jonah pressed his lips to his jaw and bit down, just hard enough to hurt without being too uncomfortable.

“What do you want, Barnabas?” he asked softly, sucking the skin on his jaw as his fingers moved to undo the buttons of his waistcoat.

Barnabas was quiet for a moment and his breathing hitched as he felt Jonah’s lips move to his ear, nipping at the flesh there and tracing the currently-empty piercing with his tongue. Of course he knew exactly Jonah was asking for. In all honesty, he had been about to ask for the exact same thing. Yet, something in him hesitated. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t been physically intimate before; Barnabas could remember at least three separate occasions where Jonah had dragged him out of the room during a fundraiser or benefactor dinner to press his lips to his neck and push his hand below his trousers and between his thighs. That, however, had been different from what he wanted right now, had been fast and rushed and had Jonah biting down on his neck to muffle his cries as he came around Barnabas’ fingers. What Barnabas wanted was the opposite of that - it was slow and sweet and intimate in a way that getting eachother off in a secluded corner of Moorland House could never be. 

Barnabas swallowed before speaking, hands sliding to grip Jonah’s thighs as he moved to sit in his lap, their bodies pressed so close that he could see the rise and fall of his chest. “I want…” he licked his lips, eyes flicking from Jonah’s face to his body, pressed flush against his own, “I want to take you to my room.” He felt his cheeks heat up as Jonah let out a laugh, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“There’s no need to be so coy, Barnabas,” he smiled, “You can just say you want to fuck.”

The bluntness of Jonah’s words made him smile and roll his eyes. “Fine,” he said, “I want to fuck you.”

Jonah let out a hum of satisfaction, kissing him again and tucking a loose strand of his hair behind his ear. “Much better,” he chuckled, pressing his lips to his one last time before sliding off of his lap and holding his hand out for Barnabas to take. “Show me the way, love.”

Jonah hardly gave Barnabas time to close the door to his bedroom before he was kissing him again, hard and fast and needy as he wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him closer. Barnabas responded by sucking on his tongue and sliding his hands down his body, running his hands over his thighs and squeezing his arse just hard enough to elicit a soft whine of pleasure from the man in his arms. He didn’t break the kiss as he pulled Jonah towards his bed, biting and sucking at his bottom lip in a way that he knew would make him groan as he fumbled with his cravat and pulled it off of his neck. His waistcoat soon followed, hitting the floor just as they reached the bed and Jonah lay down on it, gripping Barnabas’ cravat and pulling him down on top of him. Barnabas shrugged his jacket off his shoulders, letting Jonah undo his waistcoat and throw it haphazardly across the room before pulling him back down into another kiss. It was wet and hot and fast, a fervent mess of teeth and tongue and soft whines of pleasure as their shirts quickly joined the rest of their clothes on the floor.

It was then that Jonah sat up, rolling over and shoving Barnabas down on the pillow, making him let out a gasp of surprise as he pressed his mouth to his neck, sucking a bruise into his skin before trailing kissing down to his collar and doing the same there, teeth scraping lightly over the skin in way that made him let out a soft whimper and tangle his fingers tightly in his lover’s hair. Barnabas watched him through his lashes, auburn hair tickling the freckled skin of his neck. His chest rose as he inhaled sharply, trying to muffle any embarrassing noises by covering his mouth with his free hand, falling again as Jonah’s lips trailed down to his chest and he let out a sigh of pleasure.

Jonah’s skin was soft, pressed flush against his own, and his lips were warm and wet as he sucked bruises into his skin, tongue flicking over his perked nipple. Barnabas whined, his fingers clenching into fists as he gripped his lover’s hair in one hand and bit down on the other. He could feel his whole body burning up, savouring the feelings of Jonah’s mouth on his chest and his hands sliding down his abdomen, exploring his body with gentle but gentle touches that made him squirm and tug just hard enough on his hair to make him let out a low hum of pleasure. Something about the noise Jonah made - soft and deep and slightly muffled against his skin - caused Barnabas’ senses to go numb to everything save for the man on top of him, the hand over his mouth dropping to comb through his lover’s hair.

“Jonah,” he breathes, “Jonah, I love you.”

The words left his mouth before he’d even processed them, and they tumbled from his lips like a prayer, soft and fragile and more vulnerable than Barnabas liked to admit. Jonah paused at that, pulling away to look up at him.

“Barnabas...” he whispered, “I-”

“You don’t have to say it back if you don’t want to,” Barnabas reached up to cup his face in his hand, “You don’t have to say anything, love.” And then they were kissing again, slowly and deeply, chests pressed bare against each-other’s and hands roaming over each-other’s bodies until they were tangled in each-other and Barnabas could barely tell whose skin was whose. He helped Jonah slip off his trousers, lifting his hips so he could do the same. Jonah barely let him kick them off the side of the bed before he was undoing his drawers, pressing kisses to his thighs as he slid them off his legs.  He’d never been in the position before, never been so open and naked in front of someone else. He'd imagined it plenty of times before, of course; countless nights in the last year or so had been spent fantasising about this very scenario, about Jonah's lips pressed to his skin and his voice pulled into a shaky moan, as Barnabas fucked himself open with his fingers, coming with his lover's name on his lips. Imagining it, however, hadn't prepared him for how it would feel to actually be undressed, to lay beneath Jonah exposed and spread out for him to admire and worship. It was strange, yes, but he couldn't bring himself to feel ashamed, the sensation of his lover's hands tracing the curve of his stomach or the ample flesh of his thighs bringing him a certain sense of calm, of complete clarity that told him he could - and should - let Jonah Magnus come undone in his arms.

He gripped the fabric of Jonah's drawers and pulled them down, sitting up and pulling his now-fully naked lover into his lap. He bit his lips, line of sight flicking from Jonah's lips - red and swollen and slick with spit - to his freckled collar, his pale breasts and perked nipples, the trail of red-brown hair that ran in a line from his navel down to his hips, and his thighs, which were firmly planted either side of Barnabas' as he rolled his hips slowly into his own. 

"Barnabas," his voice sounded outright heavenly, his touch feather-light as he ran his fingers over Barnabas' body and lightly pinched his nipples, just hard enough to elect a moan. 

"Y… yes, Jonah?"

"What do you want to do to me?" Jonah cupped his chin in his hand and looked down at Barnabas with something akin to hunger in his eyes. He was still grinding into him, the wet warmth of his arousal smothered over his thigh as he let out soft gasps of pleasure that made it hard for Barnabas to think straight.

By the timehe eventually spoke, Jonah was resting his head on his shoulder and Barnabas could feel his own sex dripping and throbbing in need of attention. "I… I want to fuck you," he admitted, "With my fingers and my mouth and I want to watch you fall apart underneath me until all you can do is moan for more. I want to watch you writhe and beg for me as you come over and over and over." The words tumbled from his lips faster than he could process what he was saying, a soft, needy confession of his sins and fantasies that Jonah drank in like fine wine. 

“That’s good, Barnabas,” Jonah muttered, “That’s -  _ oh.. _ .” He cut himself off with a soft moan as Barnabas slipped a hand between his legs and pressed two fingers to his cock, rubbing it gently in circles as his lover buried his face in the crook of his neck to muffle the pleasured noises leaving his mouth.

“How’s that, love?” Barnabas asked him, fingers slick with his arousal as he ran them over his lips and toyed with his dick between them, his free hand combing through his messy auburn hair. Jonah gasped as his fingers trailed over his entrance, slow and teasing before returning to his cock.

“ _ Ah… _ Barnabas, I-”

“Answer my question, Jonah,” Barnabas cut him off, engulfed by a sudden confidence as he teased the edge of his hole. Jonah whined into his neck, tangling his fingers in his hair and tugging gently, rolling his hips down against his hand, and watching him writhe and whimper and gasp his name as he struggled to answer him only turned Barnabas on more. He slid his fingers inside him, basking in the moan of pleasure he let out as he slowly started fucking into him. 

“ _ God _ , Barnabas, that’s-  _ ohh... _ ” He clenched around his fingers, letting out low, breathy moans into the crook of his neck, hips rising and falling with the movement of his fingers. He responded to every touch with a soft gasp of his name or a whimper of satisfaction, pressing the occasional kiss to his lover’s jaw. Barnabas pressed his thumb to his cock, rubbing it in time with the thrusts of his fingers, and Jonah dug his nails into his shoulders. By now he was soaking, every noise Jonah made going straight to his own dick as he gradually worked in a third finger, eliciting a high-strung moan of pleasure from the man in his lap.  “God -  _ fuck _ \- Barnabas,  _ please… _ ” Jonah’s words weren’t much more than a babbling, incoherent mess, a desperate exaltation pouring from his lips in ecstasy, praising him like a devotee praising his god. He was pliant and subservient to every touch, every slide of Barnabas' fingers inside him, every grab of his thighs and caress of his breasts, and Barnabas realised just how much power he had. Jonah was handing over the reins to him, letting him take control as he came undone in his arms, and he couldn’t get enough of it.

He pressed his digits deeper inside of Jonah, curling them against his walls. The obscene sound of skin slapping wetly against skin accompanied his moans and gasps as Jonah fucked himself on his fingers, thighs hitting Barnabas’ own as he lifted himself and dropped back down against him, tilting his head back and looking down at him through heavy-lidded eyes. His face was flushed a beautiful shade of pink, bruised lips wet and parted as Barnabas pushed against something that made him let out a high, breathy moan, digging his nails into Barnabas’ back.

“ _ Fuck _ …” Jonah’s grip on his back tightened and Barnabas hissed in pain-tinged pleasure, sure that his lover had drawn blood, “Fuck, Barnabas,  _ yes…”  _

Barnabas rubbed his cock with his thumb as he continued to fuck into that same spot inside him, warm and slick with his arousal as he watched him fall apart in his hands. “Isn’t that a pretty sound?” he whispered, more to himself than to Jonah, “You’re so pretty for me, darling, so-  _ mhmm! _ ” He cut himself off with a hum of surprise as Jonah pulled him forward and pressed his lips to his, kissing him hotly and sloppily, moaning into his mouth. The movement of his hips grew uneven, a fast shaky pace that Barnabas couldn’t quite match no matter how hard he tried. He broke the kiss to once again bury his face in Barnabas’ neck, breath hot against his skin as he groaned and whines in pleasure, babbling his praises, telling him how close he was, how hot he was, how good his fingers felt filling him up -

And then he was letting out a sob of pleasure, clenching around Barnabas’ fingers as he came, his name on his lips as he rolled his hips desperately against him. Barnabas ran his fingers through his hair, soaking between his legs as he listened to his lover’s cries, feeling his release run down his fingers. 

Jonah let out a whimper as he pulled his fingers out of him, his chest rising and falling heavily as he looked down at him. His face was pink, his blush spreading up to his ears and down to his neck. His hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, and his lips were bruised and swollen, red from kissing and biting. He gave Barnabas a satisfied, fucked out grin before leaning in and connecting their mouths in a warm, gentle kiss. 

“Jonah, that was-” Barnabas started as he pulled away, and Jonah cut him off, kissing the corner of his mouth with a chuckle.

“You don’t have to say anything, love,” he told him, echoing his lover’s words from earlier, “Just let me take care of you.”

Barnabas just nodded, letting him kiss and worship him as he pulled him into his embrace as he took him apart, gently, slowly, sweetly in his arms.

When he woke up the next morning, Jonah was still in his arms, curled up against his chest in a borrowed nightshirt that hung loosely off his shoulders. Barnabas kissed his forehead and pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around him and combing his fingers lovingly through his auburn hair. Even now, when his lover was fast asleep, he felt alive, awake in a way he was not around others. The company of most made him feel tired, made him feel more alone than he ever felt when by himself; yet Jonah, somehow, was the only exception to this. Was the only person Barnabas didn’t feel lonely with.

He knew this wasn’t an experience shared by his lover, but he didn’t care. Just for now, he wasn’t lonely, and he wouldn’t let go of that feeling until Jonah left his side.

**Author's Note:**

> please kudos/comment if u enjoyed this!! or hmu on tumblr (snapdraqons) or twitter (cursedwurm/snapdraqonart)


End file.
